Fortnight with the Dalai Lama

I'm seated on a plastic chair at a place called the Garden Cafe. There's a few generous clouds mediating the temperature from above. A 50's Hindi song crackles from a stereo in the background, and a pair of cattle walk by. Serenity. The chef of the cafe triples as waiter and owner. Being the only customer and waiting over an hour for food is no surprise here. Everything moves slowly. A slight breeze pushes through the red, white, green, purple, and yellow prayer flags and permeates my body, giving me the same sense of calm that I have had for the past two weeks here in Bir.

Bir is a small Tibetan colony about two hours away from the heart of Dharamsala. It is a tiny village, where everyone knows everyone and a fifteen minute walk can get you from one end to the other. The mentality here is simple: live and be happy. It's what millions across the world say they desire, say they strive for. Despite occasional outbursts of racial tensions from the Indians, the Tibetans have found a sense of peace, an equilibrium.

I arrived to this environment, my own mind filled with so many thoughts, aspirations, goals, worries, fears, and above all expectations. But now there is remarkable clearheadedness. Maybe its the 2,000 plus foot altitude, or the calm aura of the monks. Maybe its the breathtaking views from Bir, surrounded by Himalayan foothills and snow peaks at every turn, or the basic meals of rice and dahl, maybe the pure air and Tarantino landscapes, or the insightful conversations with the other expats. But probably it is something internal, combined with everything else, a certain switch that up till now was closely guarded by the pressures of society, now flipped on.

I'm living in a three story guest house with 20 other guests at a time, from every corner of the globe. Vibrant accents color the common living room and dining area with countless stories and ideas. Three flights of stairs up is an even more amazing place, the terrace. From the roof, nearly the entire village can be seen. Five monasteries, each ornate and spectacular, stand out among the flat topped Indian styled houses and shops. Monks walk around the streets alongside sleeping dogs and ambling locals. Green foothills tower majestically everywhere, with snow capped peaks poking their heads out between them. on that roof I am in paradise. The colorful Buddhist prayer flags breathe life into the world in the wind. No picture could do this scene justice. At night, the dogs rise and howl endlessly, tiring themselves out to sleep again during the day. The sky rips open and floods with stars, as clear and close as the terrace we lay looking from.

I've been pampered by incredible conversations with amazing people, by this scenery, and by delicious food. Life is good here.

Meditation is at 6:30 a.m. at the Deer Park Monastery. For one hour, there is silence, then chants, then discussion. We return home for the standard breakfast: roti, mango jam, and tea. At 9, everyone was off to their respective monasteries. I was placed at the Bhumang Monastery in a next door village called Chantra with Jacob, Simon, and Logan, from Wales, Melbourne, and Michigan. I have 12 monk students, aged 11-16. From left to right and front to back in the classroom: Konchoks Wozer, Dorjee, Dadul, Yeshi, Serod, Thinley, Dadow, Dokun, Sangpo, Tsering, Tenzin, and Lobsang. I could write an entire novel about my students and the beautiful Bhumang, just based on the two weeks I've spent here. About my second story classroom or the windows overlooking a temporary, destitute gypsy settlement, about three hours a day I will always remember, about the curious head monk Gela, the tastiest food I have eaten or the irony of it being dahl, about the piercing innocence and willingness to learn of the little monks and how lucky I am to have taught them. I came to teach English, Math, and Social Studies, but I have emerged having learned far more than I could ever have taught.

Aside from the teaching and relaxing, I've kept very busy here. The locals boast that Bir is the 2nd best paragliding spot in the world, and the view while falling from a mountain cliff is awesome enough to support that claim. Joe, Dani, Lucia, and I took an adventure upriver, hopping across huge rocks for about an hour until we reached a small, natural pool for a cool dip. The whole way up, a friendly brown and black dog traveled with us, sometimes leading the pack, at other times protecting us from behind. I've been to every coffee shop and cafe in Bir. Eaten and become obsessed with the traditional Tibetan cuisine of momos and muesli. Made bets on world cup games, rode motorcycles, partied, and played the most hilarious and exciting soccer game of my life, all with a fun set of locals who call themselves "The Mafia." Woken up at 3:30 a.m. twice to silently chant USA USA to myself as the rest of the house sleeps, and then cooked roti with Yeshi, our beloved owner of the guest house, who wakes up at 4:30 every morning to do "stupas" and say prayer. Had the greatest weekend of my life in Manali, the topic of my next post. Become hopelessly attached to a place founded on the Buddhist principle of detachment.

A lot has happened in the past two weeks. There have been so may things to do and people to talk to that I haven't had the lengths of solitude I had anticipated. So now, if you'll kindly excuse me, after a bit of roof yoga, I'm off for a solo journey to find the legendary "forest monastery", the Sherabling, before the sun sets in Dharamsala. Namaste.